The Ghost Who Walks
by LolaBleu
Summary: Violet & Tate's path back to each other over the 7 years following "Afterbirth".
1. The Ghost Who Walks

Hayden was wrong, it wasn't death that made you horny, it was boredom. I was laying on my on my back staring up at the ceiling smoking a cigarette while Travis babbled on next to me. His post-sex ritual apparently involved boring his partner with how he was the "Boy Dhalia". I wouldn't be surprised if he whipped out his clippings in a minute. I wasn't even listening. It was white noise as far as I was concerned, but it was seriously making me consider slitting my wrists just for something to do. I wonder what it would be like? Would I bleed out like someone who was alive only to wake up good as new?

"Vi? Hello? Did you hear what I said?"

I pulled myself out of my reverie. "It's Violet, and no I wasn't listening. Tell me do you ever shut up, or do you like the sound of your voice so much you just keep pouring out word vomit?" And for once he shut up. I did feel a little bad when I caught sight of his hurt expression, but I wasn't here to listen to him talk. He wasn't a bad guy. A little shallow, a little dumb, but not a bad guy. I stubbed my cigarette out, and rolled over to straddle Travis under me.

"I'm sorry" I whispered in his ear before kissing his neck. He pouted for a minute, but I could feel him getting hard again under me. I slide my slick sex up and down his length a few times before taking him inside of me. He was at least well endowed, and experienced. He knew exactly where to touch me to make me come; kissing my neck and shoulders while he massaged my clit. Not long after I came he finished too. I didn't hang around after that. Twice was enough for one night, so I got dressed, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and walked out. Poor Travis. Forever cursed to be used by the women of the house as a life sized sex toy.

The hallway outside the bedroom was dark. I turned to my left to make my way downstairs when I heard it; a pathetic wounded animal noise coming from the attic. I knew who and what it was, and my anger flared white-hot. Logically I could have walked away from it, and gone downstairs to where I wouldn't have to hear it. My anger wouldn't let me do that though.

I stormed through the hallway and up the rickety stairs into the attic. Tate was huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees like a child, crying. He looked at me as I came into the room. "Why! Why would you do that to me Vi!"

That did it. All the anger I had been holding in for months exploded with the force of a bomb. "To you! You think I fucked him to get back at you?" I picked up the first thing within reach, an old lamp, and threw it at him. The ceramic base exploded as it hit the wall over his head. "You stupid piece of shit!" I had never been a violent person, preferring to use my words as weapons instead of physical force. As much pain as I wanted to inflict on Tate I knew my words would be the most hurtful, so I tried to keep that in mind.

I walked over to where Tate was still hunched amid the wreckage of the lamp, and crouched down to his eye level. "What I do with other people has nothing to do with you. I didn't sleep with him to get back at you. I slept with for the same reason I cut when I was alive, to feel something other than pain." He finally looked up into my eyes, pain etched on every inch of his tear soaked face. "Did you ever wonder why I swallowed all those pills? Did that niggling little thought never fester in the dark recesses of your brain? It was because of you, because of the things you did, and because I was scared of you. Fear is a pretty natural reaction to finding out a dead psychopath is in love with you, don't you think? You might not have shoved the pills down my throat, but you had a hand in my death just as surely as you slaughtered those kids at Westfield High."

Tate's normally beautiful face was twisted into an ugly mask from his grimace. "I tried to save you Vi! I didn't want you to die!"

"You are so full of shit." I spat at him. "You're such a selfish asshole it made you blind to what was right in front of you. Why do you think I tried to run for help when you wanted to commit fake suicide? You don't care how miserable I am as long as you get to keep me here. It's always 'We'll be together forever', 'We have each other', 'You're all I want', blah, blah, blah. You're so wrapped up in your own happiness that you don't see the complete lack of emotion in my eyes whenever you spew that bullshit. You think I wanted this? To be stuck here with you? If I made any mistake it was being ignorant to what dying in the house would mean."

Tate was too wracked and choked by sobs to even defend himself. He clutched at my hands desperately as if by touch he could communicate his sincerity. We sat that way in silence for a moment, his hand covering mine, before he spoke. "You have to forgive me. _You have to forgive me_. Please Vi, please, please, please forgive me. I'll do anything just forgive me."

"No."

I got up and turned to lower myself back down the trapdoor, but I hadn't gotten three feet when I was shoved to the floor. I braced myself with my hands, but still landed with a crash. Before I whipped around I grabbed a large, rusty kitchen knife that was on the dusty floor in front of me.

"I love you Violet!" All of the pain in Tate s face had been replaced by blackest anger. "Why can't you see that!" He was towering over me, hands clenched in fists, looking murderous.

I smiled sweetly up at him; a huge, smug, beautiful, insane smile. Tate had underestimated me, always. I wasn't attracted to his darkness because I liked to flirt with danger, but because it mirrored the darkness within myself that I so carefully kept from view. Being dead though, you have nothing to lose. I drew myself up from the floor and walked towards him, the knife concealed behind me. When I reached him I cupped his cheek in my left hand for a moment and watched the hate drain out of him before I plunged the knife into his heart with my right hand. We both fell into a heap on the floor. "Now you know how it felt. How it felt to learn you killed all those kids; how it felt to learn you killed the people who lived here before us; how it felt to learn _you raped my mother_." Blood was pouring from the wound I had inflicted, and bubbling up out his mouth. His eyes showed nothing but blank shock. "I only wish I could make it permanent."


	2. An Itch

"You never told me why you took those pills."

I could feel my expression solidify on my face. My breathing stopped. I was just so taken off-guard by the question. I thought Thomas had fallen asleep he had been so quiet for so long.

Thomas. Thomas was the teenaged boy who now occupied what used to be my bedroom. He and his parents had moved in about a month ago. He had heard the rumors about the "Murder House", and since he believed in ghosts was not nearly as freaked out by the house as he probably should have been. Honestly, it was nice having humans, alive ones, around again. Life got boring when you were stuck here, and it was nice to have a distraction. A few weeks after they had moved in I was poking around Thomas' room looking at his books, which were still stacked on the floor instead of the shelves. From the snoring I didn't think I needed to bother about making myself invisible. That was a mistake. When he woke up we both stared at each other in wild-eyed surprise, to shell-shocked to move for a few minutes.

When speech finally returned to him he asked me who I was, and what the hell I was doing in his bedroom at 4 in the morning. I didn't lie, and to his credit he took the fact that a dead teenaged girl was hanging out in his room pretty well. We ended up talking until sunrise about the history of the house, and all the ghosts it contained. Every night since then I spent in this room.

Oftentimes Thomas and I would lie in his bed talking well into the night; other times we would read, or listen to music, or just sleep. But he had never asked me why I had taken those pills. The "how" of my death was one thing, but the "why" was another.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to talk about it" he said hurriedly, like he was afraid he had offended me.

Thomas was not one to force confidences, and I guessed he had to really work himself up to this point. "No, it's okay. I just wasn't expecting the question." I had not really talked to anyone about the reasons I had died, even though it had happened 5 years ago now. Usually it made me feel uncomfortably vulnerable, but I didn't feel the need to hide the truth from him. Though we'd only known each other a short time he had become a better friend to me than any I had when living, and definitely since my death.

I took a deep, steadying breath. "My Dad was a psychiatrist, and one of the first patients he started treating when we moved to L.A. was a guy about my age named Tate. When I read his file later it said that he had visions of killing his classmates, and that he was very disturbed kid. I knew he was, well not 100% normal, but then neither was I. I guess I rationalized it a lot. When we were together he was mostly really sweet and caring. He did scare me a few times though."

"How?" Thomas voice was even, but I could tell I had his full attention.

"When we first moved in a girl at school was bullying me and Tate convinced me to bring her here so he could scare her and she'd leave me alone. He and the other ghosts scared her so badly she ran out of here screaming. Afterwards she couldn't eat, or sleep, and her hair turned white from fear. I heard rumors that she eventually had to be institutionalized for a while."

There was nothing but silence next to me. I hoped that that would serve as a bit of a warning to Thomas. He wasn't as frightened of the powers in this house as he should be, and it worried me.

"He also killed these 3 freaks who broke into the house to re-create some famous murder by killing my mom and I" I continued. "I suspected what he did, but didn't really push the issue because as far as I was concerned it was justified since they would have killed me without a second thought."

I stopped dead. I could feel him in the shadows behind me. I didn't need to peek over my shoulder like I did; I could feel the anger and jealousy rolling off him in waves. I understood why he was feeling them. Thomas and I... this was completely chaste. There was no physical attraction, but we were getting very close emotionally, especially tonight and to an outsider... well I knew what it looked like. I wasn't sure if by using Tate's name I had in some way called him to me, or if he had come of his own volition. Either way his face was set in an angry mask, eyes hard as flint, and fists clenched. For a moment I genuinely feared what he might do.

The sudden stop to what I now realized was a torrent of words caught Thomas' attention. "Are you okay?" He asked me.

I took another deep breath. "Yeah, I just I haven't really talked about this before." I wrenched my eyes away from Tate's face. "Anyway, it all kinda came together on Halloween. Tate and I had gone to the beach, and this group of kids confronted him. They were all fucked up; had these gruesome wounds. If you didn't look too close it just looked like really good scary makeup, but they followed us back here. Tate didn't know them, but they obviously knew him and when I confronted them to try to get them to leave they told me he killed them. I looked it up online later, and there was Tate's picture, and theirs, splashed across _The Times_. If you go in the library at Westfield there s a plaque commemorating them."

I stopped for a moment to collect my thoughts. Tate was still seething in the corner completely invisible to anyone alive. This was heading into very painful territory for me, but at the same time it felt good, like I was drawing out a poison from myself by telling this story. I knew the next part would be hurtful to more than me, and that's what kept me going. Tate needed to hear this as much as I needed to say it.

"When I got home I thought I saw Tate going into the basement so I followed him. I don't really know what I planning on doing, confronting him about it or whatever. When I got in the basement though he wasn't there. A bunch of other ghosts showed up, and I was terrified. I ran out, and when I reached the stairs leading up here I could hear music coming from my room. I used to have a chalkboard up on that wall, and on it Tate had written 'I love you' and turned the music up to draw me in here, so I'd see it. I panicked. The weight of everything... it was just too much. It wasn't even that he told me that he loved me, it was that even though he was dead, even though he was a mass murderer, even though he'd been killed by the police in this room in the year I was born, I loved him. That was what sent me over the edge."

I had started crying, and the last few words were choked out. I hate crying in front of people. I hate being weak, and vulnerable. Hate it. But I felt that there was some poison still there.

I wiped my eyes, and continued. "I guess he found me, and tried to save me. I don't really remember much. I know I took a lot of sleeping pills, and then laid on my bed. The next thing I remember is a kind of picture, like a flash or something, not like a real memory. Tate had gotten me to the bathroom somehow and he was with me in the bathtub under cold water. He said he made me throw up the pills, but they didn't all come up, and it wasn't enough. That was where I died. I don't remember the actual moment of death though; I didn't even know I was dead for weeks."

I flashed on the image of my dead body in the crawl space, and recoiled from it. I wasn't sure I could share that part of the story.

"It was such a stupid thing to do. The one time in my life I was weak, and now I'm stuck in this house forever because of it. If I had just thought about it for a minute instead of swallowing all those pills blindly I never would have done it. I didn't want to die."

I could feel Thomas stiffen next to me, and for a wild moment I thought it was because he could see Tate too. "Do you believe him, that he tried to save you, I mean?"

I was so thrown I didn't really know how to reply. "Yes... yeah, I mean I never doubted it." I stammered. I guess we would have to talk about my body. "A few weeks later he had to show me my body. He was just as upset as I was. Even now when I know more of the things he's done I don't doubt he tried to save me."

The tension that had preceded his question seemed to have broken between us. "You said you went to the beach; how does that work? I thought you were stuck here?"

Thomas' tone was light, curious. He was trying to distract me, and I was grateful. "On Halloween ghosts can roam where ever they want. I didn't know it at the time; I still thought he was alive, and we were finally going on a real date." I let out a strained chuckle.

"Well, I guess we'll have to do something fun for Halloween this year. Do you turn into a pumpkin at midnight, or what?"

I let out a real chuckle this time. "I have no idea. I haven't left the house since I died, so I don't really know the rules about it." I looked at the clock, 2:41AM. Tate was still a statue of fury. I wasn't sure how much longer this conversation could safely go on for. "You should probably get some sleep, you know."

"Yeah, I guess." His voice had lost all of the humor and turned flat. "Can I ask you just one more thing?"

"Okay, _one_ more."

"You said 'even now when I know more of the things he's done', I was just wondering what you meant."

Fuck. I let out a resigned sigh, and rolled onto my back, covering my eyes with my hand. "After I died I found out that he killed the couple who owned the house before us, and... a few other things." I couldn't tell him about the rape. Couldn't. It was too much. Paradoxically I realized why I couldn't get the words out. I was protecting Tate. All the awful things he'd done, not just to my family, but to others as well made me hate him. That hate was palpable, but at the same time I couldn't bring myself to talk about the rape because I didn't want Thomas to think too badly of him.

There was a short pause before Thomas asked if he should be afraid of Tate. I sighed again. "Yes, he can be the most dangerous thing in this place if you're not careful." There was silence for a few minutes before I broke it. "Go to sleep. You'll be useless tomorrow if you don't." My tone was so final he didn't attempt to keep me talking.

It took him a long time to fall asleep, or maybe it just seemed so to me because Tate and I were silently, and angrily glaring at each other; me on the bed next to Thomas, Tate leaning against the wall furthest from me. I could feel the blow-up coming. I knew as soon as the living left for the day that tension would break with the force of a tsunami. We'd probably set the house off for weeks with all the negative energy. In a perverse way I was kinda looking forward to it.


	3. Just Like Honey

Thomas was busy rushing around the room gathering his things for school. I was sitting in the window smoking. Tate hadn't moved an inch all night, I wasn't even sure he blinked. My fear of what he would do had returned full force at sunrise, but I figured he wouldn't try anything while I was present.

"I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah." I flicked the cigarette out the window. As soon as Thomas' back was turned I went invisible. It felt all wrong, like walking out in public naked. I followed immediately behind Thomas, and gave Tate a harsh stare as I passed. Tate left us at the bottom of the stairs, but I followed Thomas to the edge of the property, as far as I could go, just to be safe.

When I got back into the house the hallway was empty, but I could hear my mom and Moira's voices coming from the kitchen. They sounded low and strained. I didn't need to guess why.

I walked into the kitchen. "Where is he?" They both stared at me with worry. It was Moira who answered. "In the basement Miss Violet." There was something of a warning in her voice. I ignored it and turned on me heel, but before I could walk out my mom had grabbed my hand.

"Be careful Vi." I could see the fear written on her face. "I'll be fine." My tone was cold and clipped. I took a breath and tried to make it a little more reassuring. "I'm already dead, he can't kill me again. Don't worry Mom, I'll be fine." I could tell her motherly concern wasn't convinced. "You have to trust me on this. No matter what, you know I can take care of myself. Just remember what happened the last time we had a fight." I gave her a brilliant smile, which she only halfheartedly returned. The whole house knew about me stabbing Tate. Chad and Patrick had loved it. I gave her hand a little squeeze, and walked out.

I didn't even pause at the basement door, just flung it open and confidently walked down the steps. My anger wasn't explosive like the last time I'd confronted him; more icy and controlled, and I was going to use it to my benefit because I had a favor to ask of him. I found him sitting in a chair in the corner with his back towards me. I could tell from the stiff set of his shoulders he was still raging. I stopped a few feet behind him.

"Tate?"

Before I knew what was happening the chair had clattered to the floor and he had grabbed me by the shoulders, pushing me up against the rough brick wall of the basement. His eyes were black as pitch and filled with hate, and his breathing was ragged as he stared into my eyes. His touch was gentle, but unyielding. After our last fight Tate had sunk into the darkness of the house. I guess it was his way of dealing with the pain of losing me, and the pain I continued to inflict on him by sleeping with other people. But we had spent the last 5 years carefully avoiding each other. This was the closest we had been since the first, and only time I had banished him.

The intensity of the feelings I had for him, feelings I had long since buried and wished dead, rose up in me. I couldn't react. I couldn't even breathe. I simply stood there frozen. He leaned in closer, and his lips met mine; gentle at first, then rougher. His hands sliding up my neck to cradle my face. The worst part, the absolute worst part, was that I could feel myself getting wet. I wanted him, needed him. Needed to feel him inside of me, because even now I knew I was never going to have with someone else what I had with him, and suddenly it really didn't matter how many people he had killed. A wave of sickening guilt washed over me. What's wrong with me? He raped my mother. I finally moved my hands and pushed him away. He wasn't going to win this time.

His eyes were still full of hate. "He'll never make you feel the way I do." And there was cold triumph in his voice at the thought of that.

So that was how he was going to be. Fine. He wanted to be cruel, well I could be cruel too. I dug in my pocket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and shook one out. "Tell me something Tate, did you ever really love me, or was it just your 'obsessive need to please the ladies of the house' like Moira said?"

"What?" His voice was sharp, like a whip cracking.

"You heard me." It was shitty, petulant thing to say, but he started this. His face set into a hard mask, devoid of emotion. Was that what he looked like when he killed all those people?

He rushed up next to me, and painfully grabbed my arm; hard enough to bruise me. Maybe I'd gone too far this time. "You're all I ever wanted Violet. I love you!" He screamed at me. "I broke my promise to Nora because of you!" My stomach twisted into a hard knot of fear. He was never going to break me. He was never going to get me to show fear. Thankfully he'd grabbed me by my left arm, and not my right, which was the one I put all my force into when I drew back and slapped him across the face hard enough to bloody his lip.

"And we always kill the things we love, don't we?" I spat at him. As we stood there glaring at each other I thought about how close pleasure was to pain, love to hate. I still hated him, but in the years since our last blow out I had come to accept that no matter what he did, or how deeply I tried to bury it, there would always be a little piece of me that loved him.

I could see the darkness gathering in his face. There was still a chance to pull this back from the brink, but perversely I didn't want to. I wanted him to hurt me physically the way he hurt me emotionally. I was egging him on because I liked the fear. It made me feel alive for the briefest moment. A little hysterical giggle escaped. Then another. My own darkness was boiling to the surface. "What are you going to do Tate? Rape me like you did my mother? Is that the only way you can get it up? Maybe the problem that night on the beach was that I was too gentle with you."

He let out an inarticulate yell and threw me down onto the cold floor next to chair before straddling me. "Why are you doing this to me Violet, I don't want to hurt you." And for the first time there was real malice in his voice.

I reached up and grabbed him by the collar to pull his face down to mine, so he could hear me. "Because I can." Because I like it. Because I want to make you hurt. Because I want to make us both hurt. And it was there in his eyes. My lust reflected in his. I pulled on his collar to close the distance between us, and our lips met again. I could taste the blood there, and I licked it off feeling none of the revulsion I had years before when he licked my blood. There was no pretext of gentleness though.

His lips were urgent against mine, and they traced a line to my ear where he moaned, "I missed you so much, Vi." My hands tangled into his hair as I guided his lips to my neck. I let out a small moan as he trailed his way down, eventually biting me hard enough to leave a mark on that delicate space between my neck and collarbone. I could feel the pain draining out of me like blood from a wound. But the anger was still there, and the guilt. They were warring with desire; need really. Because I needed this, but that wall of anger and guilt was keeping me from it. I couldn't submerge myself in the pleasure of his skin and his touch like I used to because anger and guilt were perched on my conscience like avenging angels telling me that he needed to pay for his sins.

There wasn't even a choice. The words I had spoken to my mother a few minutes ago came ringing back "I'm already dead, he can't kill me again." I realized how wrong I was. If I let this go on any longer it could hurt us both beyond repair, and for the first time I was forced to admit to myself that I didn't want to do that. What I wanted was him back. I wanted the Tate that I knew. The sweet one who cried when he told me he loved me; the one who tried to protect me from everything. That was the person I loved, and the only one I ever wanted.

His lips had made their way back to mine, and we were both fighting for control. I placed my hands purposefully on his chest, and pushed him off of me with all the force I could muster. He fell on the floor next to me, a look of utter confusion on his face as we both caught our breath. "Do you love him?" His voice was rough with pain. Because that would be the real betrayal here, falling in love. He could deal with me sleeping with other men. He didn't like it, but he could deal with it. But there was nothing that could numb the pain of me giving my heart to someone else.

"No, not like you mean." This was important. Tate needed to understand completely if I was going to take away the threat he could pose to Thomas.

"How then?" And there was definite bitterness there.

"He's my friend, Tate. A better friend to me than anyone I had in life. He's our age when we died. I love him like family, and I don't want him trapped here; doomed to suffer forever in this wretched house." I sat up and pulled my knees in, encircling them with my arms.

Tate reached out for my hand and I let him take it. His fingers were tracing circles on my palm when he finally spoke again a few minutes later. "You're not happy here?"

"No, I'm not, but then again who is? We all have to make the best of the hand we're dealt." I could feel the tears forming, hot and stinging the rims of my eyes. "Do you still love me?"

"Always". His words rushed out, "You're the only one I've ever loved, the only one I've ever wanted. Even if you don't want me anymore I'll still love you, still do whatever I can to make you happy, and keep you safe."

And there was my opening. "Anything?"

"Anything." He said firmly.

I smiled at him. A warm smile, a genuine one. "If you want my forgiveness then help me. Help me, and my parents, and Moira, and all the others who want to help. Help us keep Thomas safe from the darkness of this house. Help us give him the life we didn't have, not the one we never wanted. He'll leave for college in a few years. We have to keep him safe until then."

He considered me shrewdly for a moment. "Promise me something in return."

"What?" I picked at the hem of my shirt in the hope that Tate wouldn't see my tears.

"You say he's your friend. Can you promise me that's all it will ever be?"

I looked in his eyes, and reached out to touch his face. "I promise." The tears were flowing in earnest now. "If you don't believe me stay invisible in the corner every night."

He let out a mirthless chuckle, "Oh yeah, big treat getting to watch you curl up in bed with another man. Did Christmas come early this year?" But he reached out and wiped my tears away all the same.

"This is the beginning Tate. I can't forget the pain you caused my family, but I can forgive you. You told me you wanted to be a good person. Be one. Do something good for someone in this prison instead of adding to the carnage." I left him sitting there on the floor, lost in thought.

He did help though. I was surprised how many of the houses inhabitants wanted to help. Some didn't, Hayden, a few others. Mostly though none of us wanted to be here, and if we could help someone avoid our fate we would go to any lengths we could to protect the living.


	4. By Your Side

Her name was Willa. Thomas had met her not long after he started at Westfield about a year ago. From the start I had guessed that she'd be his "game changer"; that person that fundamentally changes you even it it doesn't last forever. I didn't tell him that last part though. I didn't want my natural pessimism to taint his happiness.

I hadn't been introduced to her, because really how was that conversation going to go? "Hi, I'm Thomas' dead friend Violet. I'm stuck in this house because I committed suicide here 6 years ago after finding out that my ghost boyfriend was a mass murderer. Also I spend most of my nights in your boyfriends bed." Yeah, that wasn't going to go well. But I had seen them together, and Thomas talked about her all the time. I know he worried he bored me with it sometimes, but I was happy he was happy, and it also served a dual purpose. On the one hand it was a link to the outside world for him; it gave him a reason to not be stuck here. On the other hand Tate had taken me up on the offer to invisibly watch Thomas and I at night, so he heard for himself how into someone else Thomas was.

His parents were going out of town in a few weeks, and Willa would be spending the night. Not that his parents knew that. They also didn't know that he was hoping he could sleep with her for the first time. I was kinda surprised they hadn't before since they'd known each other for so long. I wasn't sure I could ask him the really awkward question I wanted to ask though.

Typically, Thomas noticed my silence, and read it correctly. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it? I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I'm just surprised."

He let out a sigh, and stopping flipping through his iPod. "I'm not a virgin, but for me, with other people, it's just been physical. Not that I didn't care about the girl I was with before, it just wasn't anything special... the sex I mean. For the first time ever his face turned bright red. "I want it to be special this time. I want it to be more than what it was before because she's different."

"And that's not a bad thing, but still why the hold up?" I took the now ignored iPod from his hands and started searching for something to listen to.

"It's actually because of you."

I practically choked. "Excuse me?" Thank Christ Tate was playing with Beau and wasn't here to hear this.

"Hahaha! Gotcha!" He fell back on his pillows and practically howled with laughter.

"Prick!" I slapped Thomas playfully on the arm. "Seriously though, why haven't you slept with her yet?"

His face was still bright red, but this time it was from laughing at my reaction. "You said a while ago that there were milestones in life, one being the first time you had sex, and another being the first time you had _good sex_. I've had sex, just the purely physical act, but as I said Willa's different and I want it to be more. I'm just not sure I'm up to that; I don't want to disappoint her."

I rolled over to face him, and ran my fingers down his face, and in my best seductive voice said "Well, maybe I can help you with that." His eyes went wide and his breathing stopped for a minute. "Gotcha!" I bounded up off the bed, and headed for the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?" He yelled after me.

"To get someone who can help."

I found him in the basement having a tea party with Lorraine's little girls. They were really sweet if you could get past the smoke coming off them. I smiled as I approached the party. "Hi girls. I was wondering if I could borrow Travis for a little while. I need his help with something." Travis looked a little surprised, but curious. My interactions with him were usually limited to taking each others clothes off, and even that hadn't happened in quite a while. After a little bartering I was able to get Travis' help for 4 cookies and chocolate bar I had scavenged from the kitchen. What a bargain.

When I led Travis into Thomas' room a few minutes later he looked utterly perplexed. He looked from me to Thomas and back again before raising an eyebrow. I pointed my finger at him warningly "If the word 'threesome' comes out of your mouth I'll have Moira bite your dick off."

"Okay, so what am I doing here?"

"Travis this is Thomas. Thomas really loves his girlfriend and he hasn't slept with her yet because he's not feeling very confident about his skills. I thought you could help."

A big smile spread across Travis' face as he crossed the room to shake hands with a frankly embarrassed looking Thomas. "So what do you want to know kiddo?" I heard him say as I slipped out of the room.

Now that I was off the hook for the rest of the afternoon I realized I didn't have much to do. I could hear my mom playing her cello down the hall; I assumed my dad was with her. I thought about joining them, but she got so lost in her playing I didn't want to intrude. She'd stop in a little while anyway when Thomas' parents got home anyway. I was wandering aimlessly as I approached the attic door when I heard heard giggles above me. I knew Tate would be up there, but it had been a long time since I had seen Beau, so I climbed the rickety stairs to join them.

Beau giggled when he saw me, which caused Tate to turn around. When he saw me a smile crept across his face. "Violet's come to play with you too Beau."

I sat on the floor next to him, and Beau rolled the red ball to me. "Hey Beau."

"So, where's your friend?" Tate asked lightly.

"With Travis." I rolled the ball back.

"Why?" was Tate's surprised response. I explained the situation as concisely as I could. "So I thought Travis would be the one to go to for help. I had to bargain with Margo and her sister though since they were having a tea party with him."

"And you didn't feel the need to join in their conversation?" His tone was off. I couldn't figure it out, so I starred at him quizzically for a minute before I slowly said, "No, I didn't". Beau and I rolled the ball back and forth for a long time before Tate broke the silence.

"It's almost sunset. C'mon, let's go on the roof and watch it."

"Bye, Beau." I rolled the ball back one last time, and let Tate help me out the window onto the roof.

We laid on the gentle incline next to each other. It was fall; the sun would set soon, but it wasn't unpleasantly cold since there was a warm Santa Ana blowing from the east. He pulled a cigarette from its pack and lit it before passing it to me. After a while Tate gently pulled my hand onto his stomach and started absently running his thumb up and down the scars on my wrist. "You're quiet." He commented.

"I guess I just don't have anything to say." And I really didn't. The playful mood I had been in before going to the attic had disappeared, but I wasn't sad. I was just very relaxed lying in the roof, sharing a smoke with Tate, and listening to the sounds of the city around me.

"Nothing to say, or nothing to say to me." His tone had a little tremble to it, like he was afraid of my answer.

"No, nothing to say. I just want to lay here and enjoy this." We stayed that way long after the sun went down; neither of us talking, occasionally sharing a cigarette, and listing to the city falling asleep around us. Eventually it did get cold, and we climbed back in the window. Tate followed me into my former bedroom, and instead of taking his usual place in the desk chair across the room he sat on the floor next to the bed where I laid down next to a sleeping Thomas. I couldn't fall asleep. When my eyes were open I couldn't stop watching Tate watching me, and when I closed them I could still see him there, like the image had been burned onto my eyes.


	5. Far Away

Tonight was the big night for Thomas. Actually it was still afternoon, and even though his parents had left already Willa hadn't arrived yet. He and I were sitting in the backyard. Well I was sitting. He was trying to sit and failing because he was so worked up the only thing he could do is pace. "Want a cigarette?" I asked. He just glared at me. He didn't smoke. "I bet I could scrounge up a Vicodin or something."

"Not helping Vi." Was his only response.

"Well you've got to do something to chill out because if you don't it's going to be a disaster."

"Also, incredibly not helpful." He snapped.

"Seriously if you don't stop you're going to make me dizzy. I wonder if ghosts can throw up? We might find out soon."

He finally stopped pacing and looked at me. "Sit." I took his hands in mine. "Relax. Everything's going to be fine. She's probably nervous too, so the best thing you can do is just relax. If it doesn't feel right you can always wait until it does. The fate of the world doesn't depend on you getting laid tonight."

Finally he smiled. "So can I go back to my book or are you going to freak out some more?"

"No, I think I'm done. Could you read it to me though?" I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I know it sounds childish, but it's distracting." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not, but I read to him anyway even though I was a little self conscious about it. After a little while I lost myself in the verse of Phillip Larkin and didn't register anything until a car pulled into the driveway around sunset. Thomas bolted, but it was still nice outside, so I stayed out to read.

Not long after Tate came out to join me. "What are you reading?" I flipped the spine over so he could read it. "Larkin? Really?"

"What's wrong with it?" I asked a little defensively.

"Nothing. Not my thing is all. I prefer Keats."

"So you're a tragic romantic?" Something Chad had told me years ago came floating back through my memory 'Just before he killed me he said it was kind of romantic, Pat and I being together forever. Yeah, trapped with a man who doesn't love me. So romantic.' I wonder... definitely a dangerous question to ask.

"Something like that." He said as he sat next to me. "What's that look for?"

"Nothing." I said hastily.

"So will you read it to me too?" He smiled. "I was watching from the window upstairs."

"No. I think I'll go inside." I started to get up.

His anger flared "So, what? You'll sit out here all afternoon reading to him, and not me?"

I turned to look him full in the face as I sat back down. "What the hell Tate?"

"I could ask you the same thing." And his tone was the same as that day in attic. It was perplexing; a little hurt, a little jealous, a little angry, but something else I couldn't put my finger on.

"You know what? I'm not doing this with you. Get a grip, and grow up." I got up and walked half way to the house. Fuck it. I turned back around and marched up to Tate who was still sitting where I left him. "If I hadn't killed myself what would you have done if I left this house, or fell in love with someone else? Would you have killed me yourself to keep me here with you?"

"No" was his icy reply.

"I want to believe that Tate, but I don't." I started off for the house again.

"I hate it when you walk away from me!" He screamed.

"Then stop giving me reasons to" I snapped before I went through the door.

Once inside I let out a deep sigh. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath. God, grant me the patience not to stab him again. Invisibly I walked around the ground floor to see if the lovebirds were hanging out there, but it was empty so I figured I could relax for a while. As I was crossing the hall I caught sight of Hayden walking up the staircase. Hayden. That stupid bitch had been a thorn in everyone's side. Her going upstairs was unusual, but I hesitated to follow. After the first few years she spent most of her time in the basement fucking Hugo and killing him over and over again, but occasionally she'd emerge to really wreck havoc on the place. I decided to let it go for the time being.

I flopped down on the couch and put a hand over my eyes replaying the argument I had with Tate. I wasn't sure if I could ever get past what he did. I could forgive it, but I would never forget it. Since we had almost had sex in the basement last year every time I would think of him like that I would see the kids from Halloween, Chad, Patrick, my mom, and worst of all the his baby. The thought of that thing, whatever it was, haunted and sickened me. It was evidence I couldn't ignore of his misdeeds, and a reminder of something we could never have. I wanted Tate, but every time I got close to him, emotionally or physically, it was like those things formed a wall between us. I wasn't sure I could break it down. It wasn't just anger at the things he'd done though, it was fear, overpowering fear that if I let him in again he'd hurt me all over again.

Several hours later I was still on the couch, my mind running in circles when there was a huge crash upstairs. I ran to the master bedroom where I could hear voices. I stopped in the doorway. Hayden was in the corner next to a big bookcase that had been knocked over, and like me clearly invisible to very startled looking Thomas and Willa who were listening to Moira. "I told Madame just a few days ago that this bookcase was very unbalanced. It must have finally tipped over. You two go back to your movie, and I'll clean this up."

As they walked out the door past me, Tate walked up behind me. He must have heard the crash from outside, and came to investigate. Hayden sneered at me from across the room. Even if I couldn't kill her that didn't mean that didn't mean ripping her eyes out wouldn't be fun. I started across the room, but Tate wrapped his arms around me, and whispered "let me deal with her" in my ear.

"Oh is Little Lord Fauntleroy going to make me regret that?" She laughed.

Suddenly, they were both gone. I looked at Moira. "I'll help you clean this up."

"Thank you Miss Violet. I have to say if there's any one one ghost I wish wasn't here it's her. I'd rather deal with the man who tried to rape me than that trashy woman. I could never understand what your father saw in her other than a good time."

Between the two of us we had most of the mess cleaned up when Tate returned, his hands covered in blood. "I can get the rest of this Moira." She took the hint and left. When Tate walked into the bathroom I followed and sat on the edge of the tub as he went to wash the blood off in the sink. "Do I ask?"

"Are you sure you want to know the answer?" He said darkly.

"No, I'm not sure I do. Will she be causing any more problems tonight?"

"Definitely not. Charles has her occupied." And there was a rueful smile on his lips.

I considered that for a moment. Nope, definitely didn't want to know. "I'm sorry... about earlier."

There was silence for a moment before he replied. "Me too. It's just so hard, Vi. I know you have every right to hate me, but seeing you with him sometimes, doing the things that we used to do... I wonder if you are falling in love with him, and that thought... it just hurts so much." His back heaved with the force of a sob. He thought I had betrayed him; probably festered on that thought for the last few weeks. I felt contrite as I walked up behind him, and put my hands on his shoulders to steer him to the bed where he collapsed.

"Come here." I laid on the bed and pulled him into me, wrapping my arms around him. He nestled his face into my neck and pulled me tightly, almost painfully, against him. As we lay there, him crying, holding each other I thought how strange it was. Physically I was a very slight girl, but I was always tough; my strength just wasn't physical, it was emotional. Tate was the opposite; he was so fragile emotionally. I wondered why. Childhood trauma maybe? God knows having Constance for a mother could fuck anyone up. Or maybe it was some kind of chemical imbalance, or an actual mental illness? The file of my dad's I had read didn't answer my questions. The one I was avoiding was 'did it really matter to me what was wrong with him?'. I knew the answer, but didn't want to admit it, especially to myself.

By the time either of us spoke my mind had wandered far away from wondering what had damaged him. Tate had stopped crying after what felt like hours, though it probably wasn't. I would have thought he'd fallen asleep except that he was slowly rubbing his hand up and down the length of my back. Honestly, that was my favourite feeling in the world. It was probably just something he did absently, but I don't know... it felt so comforting, so loving. It was something I had missed so much all these years. "I think I owe you a shirt." His voice was hoarse from crying.

"Don't worry about it."

Very quietly, almost so low you couldn't hear it, we heard moaning from down the hall. We both twisted our heads to look at the door to the hallway. It made me think of the first time with Tate. After my mom had drug me out of bed in the middle of the night, after being chased back inside by bloody ghosts, after the cops and my dad freaking out, I had run up to my room to find Tate pacing frantically. Words had failed me when I saw him. I had barely closed and locked the door behind me before he pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard. All the urgency and desperation of the situation acted like an aphrodisiac. I had worried after that night on the beach that he didn't really want me that way. But that night in my bedroom there was no hesitation, no uncertainty.

His hands, like mine, were sure as we undressed each other on the way to the bed. By the time we got there we were both down to our underwear. He laid me gently down on the mattress, and hovered above me, kissing me as he slipped out of his boxers before working his way down to my breasts to suck and tease my nipples as he slipped my panties off. When he came back up to kiss me I could feel the tip of his cock resting at my entrance just for the briefest moment before he slipped inside me. He was looking into my eyes as he did, and in that moment of exquisite pain there was perfect understanding; I needed him, and he needed me.

I was so lost in the thoughts of that night - feeling the sweaty friction of our bodies, the sheets soaked and twisted around us, him whispering 'Don't leave me' and me promising I wouldn't - that I didn't notice my eyes had closed, my brow was furrowed, and my breathing was ragged until Tate said my name several times.

"Vi." The lust in his voice was unmistakable. He pulled himself on top of me and looked into my eyes for a moment before his lips met mine. My hands slid down his back and up under his clothes to run up and down his back. One of his hands was gliding its way up the outside of my leg, and up under my skirt. I knew he was reliving our first time together too, and it was making him want this just as badly as I did. I pushed him back so I could slip his cardigan and shirt off, unhooking and flinging his belt aside in the process while he undid the buttons on my shirt.

I put my hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him back down with me. I could feel his hardness pressing against through the fabric of our clothes. His hands had slipped under my bra straps and in one fluid movement pulled them down hard enough to pull the fabric from my breasts too. When his lips finally left mine to trail their way down my neck and collar my breathing was ragged again. The specters of his misdeeds were floating around the edge of my conscience warningly, but all thought of them disappeared when his lips found my nipples. I sucked in a sharp breath at their warmth on me, on his tongue flicking across them; the pleasure of it made me arch my back and moan his name. I felt him smile. I tangled my hands in his hair and pulled him back up to kiss him, his tongue leaving a trail the whole way.

It had been so long, years, since I had had him inside of me, and suddenly I needed him. Now. Immediately. He must have felt the same because what started out slow and indulgent was now urgent; like two junkies needing a fix. What remained of our clothes were flung, or in the case of my skirt, ripped off. Then I could feel him there between my legs; his hardness nudging my wet sex. I pulled my lips away from his, "I want you", I whispered, and then he slid inside of me. Nothing felt as good as when he first entered me, slowly slipping in every inch. I let out a breathy moan and dug my nails into his shoulder.

"God Violet, I missed you so much" He moaned as he started to pump in and out of me, slowly at first then faster. It wasn't the same though, because I couldn't lose myself in him, in his touch. I was holding back from fear of the pain he could inflict on me, and I couldn't break free of it.

Our skin was slick with sweat when I felt his hand slipping in between us, but I grabbed it. "No, not yet." I moaned "I want to come with you." He looked me in the eyes, but didn't say anything, just moved his hand down to hitch my leg up. He thrust deeply, almost painfully, into me and flipped us over so I was on top. Between the two of us we worked out a rhythm, and after a while I felt his hand slid down once again, to finger my clit. He had timed it well; once my own orgasm started I could feel his cock harden even more and release inside of me. It was so intense it left me panting for breath.

He gently pulled me down for a kiss, and I felt him slip out of me. I laid next to him, our foreheads touching, catching our breath before he whispered "I love you. Only you. Always." while running his hands through my hair.

"I love you to." I meant it, but the aftermath of my orgasm had left me feeling empty. He didn't try to pull me out of my abstraction just lay next to me until the sun came up a short time later. All the reasons I had for breaking things off with him reared up, twice as big as before. How could I let him back in after all the damage he'd caused to my family, and all the hurt he'd caused me? I flashed on the image of my mom holding a Tate-like baby and was sickened. As I pulled away from him I had never felt worse, dead or alive. I hated myself. I needed to numb myself. "I have to get out of here." I said as I threw on my clothes.

"Violet?" there was a hint of worry in his voice.

"I have to go." I said a little hysterically. He grabbed me by the shoulders and I dissolved into tears, and sat back down on the bed. When I finally composed myself I found Tate looking at me with overpowering worry on his face. "I'm sorry" I pushed myself away from him "I'm so sorry, Tate."

And I swept out of the room. Tate followed me to the door, but stopped when he saw my dad in the hallway. I could see the shock and worry on his face when he took in the scene, but pushed past him my only thought finding the nearest razor.


	6. Harsh Realm

I groggily opened my eyes. "What were you thinking Violet?" My dad's voice was annoyed, but worried.

"Which part?"

"All of it." He said harshly.

Things were coming into focus now. The green around me was the tall grass behind the garage where I'd taken refuge. It was late afternoon judging from the color of the sky. I didn't try to move, just laid in the tall grass. "Do you really want to have this conversation with me, especially considering I can't kill myself - again."

"Talk to me, Vi." He entreated. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I hurt him." My dad just stared at me. I could tell that he was happy that I had hurt Tate, but he worried what my reaction to that would be. "What happened after I left?"

He hesitated. "I tried to get what happened out of Tate -"

I cut him off "How?" and my tone was sharp. He starred at me apprehensively. He had probably tried to beat it out of him. Great. "I guess I know. So what did he say?"

"Nothing. Not a word. It was like he wasn't even there." I groaned, and leaned my head on my knees. "You've got to help me out here, Vi. What the hell is this all about? You were so upset this morning, and then when I found you out here you had sliced your wrists down the bone and bled out."

In my haste I hadn't wasted time looking for a razor and simply grabbed a small knife from the kitchen as I ran outside. I went behind the garage; it was the farthest out of the house I could go and still have privacy since I didn't know if I'd be able to stay invisible through whatever was going to happen. I looked down at my wrists; there wasn't even a shadow of the deep vertical cuts I had made. The pain had almost been enough to make me stop, but I wanted to be numb so badly I couldn't. I looked around for the knife, and saw it next to my dad. I wanted nothing but to reach out for it again and sink back into oblivion, but when he saw me looking at it he put it in his pocket. "Talk to me Violet." He said firmly.

I let out of a deep sigh, and considered his expression. He was going to flip his shit when I told him what was going on, but if I could get through this he'd leave me alone. "When Thomas moved in last year, and we started getting close I was worried Tate would hurt him. One night Tate found us in bed" his expression changed to surprise "it's not like that" I said firmly "we were talking. Anyway, Tate thought the same thing you did and he was furious."

"He has no right -" he started angrily.

"I know dad. Just please let me finish?" He nodded. "Anyway, I found him the next morning in the basement. I knew I had to explain the situation to him so he wouldn't hurt Thomas. In the end I told him if he wanted to earn my forgiveness he'd help me keep him safe." I didn't need to go into details. Details like us almost fucking on the basement floor. To my dad? No way.

"Forgive him!" he yelled. I didn't try to argue with him, just let him yell himself out. "After everything he did to this family you said you'd forgive him! He raped your mother Violet; his baby killed her. And what about all the other murders? The high school shooting, Chad, Patrick, who knows who else!" He was breathing hard when he stopped and glared at me.

"Are you done?" I said I coldly. "I know exactly what he's done; all the pain he's inflicted. I can never forget the people he's killed; I wish I could, but I see them every time I look at his face, and that's the problem."

It was his turn to size me up. "Violet he's a psychopath, plain and simple. Never forget that. Even ignoring the murders and rape look at how he reacted to finding you in bed with someone. That's not normal."

"You're right, I suppose he could have attacked me with a kitchen knife like mom did to you when she found you in bed with Hayden." I said petulantly.

He looked like I slapped him in the face. "He doesn't love you; he's incapable of it."

"Yeah, okay. We're done." I got up and walked back into the house. I wanted to be alone. After a quick rummage in the junk drawer I found an old razor and went into a disused guest room. I set the razor on the nightstand and wearily laid down. The house was quiet and still. There was a little light filtering in from the window above me; I reached up and fingered the thin curtain.

Lying there I couldn't force my brain to think coherently. It was like it was on some sort of sick overload. All I could process were images and feelings - Tate smiling at me after he gave me a black rose on Halloween, crying when he told me he loved me - but no thoughts to go along with them. It felt like my brain was dredging up every mental image it could of him. I don't know how long I lay there - long enough for the sun to rise and set a few times I think - before my mom found me. At some point I had curled into a ball. The sheets were wet near my face from crying I didn't remember.

"Violet honey?" she said softly. She sat down on the bed next to me, and rubbed my arm. "Do you want to talk about it?" When I didn't reply she said, "forgiveness isn't a bad thing Violet."

"Dad told you?"

"Yeah, he did. He's not happy about it."

"What about you?" I asked tentatively.

"I don't know. On the one hand he raped me; his baby killed me and the other baby. He hurt you probably more than any of us. On the other hand I'm not unhappy; I have my family. Sometimes it's just perspective. We were never getting out of this place whole, but now we have a second chance. I'm not ready to forgive him the things he did to me, but if you're in that place I don't think it s a bad thing." She watched me take her words in, and after a minute's silence asked, "do you still love him?"

"If I could stop I would." I quietly replied.

She let out a little chuckle "love's not like that." She squeezed my hand. "Do you want to tell me what happened between you two?"

I couldn't meet her eye. "We'd had a fight earlier. He still struggles sometimes with Thomas being in the picture. He knows I don't love him, but sometimes when he sees us together he can t help but get jealous. I get it; if the tables were turned I'd feel the same. Anyway, after we apologized to each other he was so upset he started crying, and I held him, and..." I stopped dead.

"You slept with him." It wasn't a question. "And then?"

"He was so happy, and I felt so horrible. I thought of all the things he's done, and I was disgusted with myself for letting it happen, and him being so happy because he thought he had me back. I freaked out." The tears were falling again. "I don't know what I m doing anymore."

She wrapped me in her arms. "Do you want to be with him?" she asked gently.

"I don't know if it matters, really. Every time I think of him all I see are the terrible things he's done, and the pain it caused. It's like that pain forms a wall around my heart to protect me from more pain, and I can't break it down."

We sat that way for a long time before she broke the silence. "Can I do anything to help?"

"You already are."

She pulled back and swept the hair from my face to look at me. "Don't beat yourself up too much baby." She kissed my forehead. "Come rejoin the land of the undead" she said in her best spooky voice "we miss you." and she left.

I leaned up against the headboard and picked the razor up off the nightstand, twirling it around in my fingers, watching the light from the window reflect onto it.

* * *

><p>I shut the front door heavily behind me to trudge up the stairs. The last few days had been wonderful, and I wanted to share that with Violet, but she wasn't around. It was strange; occasionally I wouldn't see her, but days on end? Never. Something was going on. When I reached the second story landing I could hear music coming from my room, and I smiled. <em>She's back<em>.

I was smiling as I walked in the room. "Vi, where - who are you?" There was a guy about my age starring at the empty bed. He turned to look at me, and his face was frightening because it lacked emotion, like a mask.

"I'm Tate." Flat monotone. No emotion.

Tate. Violet's ex-boyfriend. Ghost. Mass murderer. She had once told me he was the most dangerous thing in the house, and looking at his face I felt fear, but not for me. "Where's Violet?" I asked harshly, and dropped my backpack.

"I don't know; the last time I saw her was 4 days ago." He turned back to looking at the bed.

Vi was the closest thing to a sister I had, being an only child, and knowing what this guy had done in the past I didn't trust him. "What did you do to her?"

"So much" he said quietly, and when he turned to face me the mask had been replaced by a look appropriate to Judas at the base of the cross. "But I didn't hurt her like you mean. She's the only light I've ever known. Before her the darkness of this place twisted my own darkness into something evil. She changed me. I wouldn't hurt her like that."

"So what are you doing here? I haven't seen her in days." I said shortly. I still wasn't sure he hadn't done something to her.

"Can you give her a message for me?" he asked in a pained voice.

"Okay." I replied apprehensively.

"Tell her I'm sorry for everything, and I'll stay away unless she doesn't want me to." He turned and headed for the door, but checked on the threshold. "Tell her I died for her that day the SWAT team killed me, I just didn't know it yet." And then he walked out.

I slumped into my desk chair. What the fuck? Just... what the fuck?

I spent the whole afternoon and into the night pondering my short conversation with Tate. Clearly Violet had left a lot out of their story, and without that information I couldn't make sense of it. Over the next few days it would crop up in the quiet moments. It sucked because the only other person in the world I could talk about it with was Violet, and she wasn't around. Finally two days later she turned up late one night, sitting on the bed waiting for me when I got out of the shower.

"So I hear you've been pestering everyone about where I've been?"

It was true. I had badgered Moira, and finally her parents as to her whereabouts, but they had said she'd come out when she was ready. They were equally evasive on the reason why she wasn't around claiming that if she wanted to talk to me about it she would. I grumbled at the answer, but I knew they were right.

"Yeah, I have. You want to tell me where you've been?" My frustration over everything - her absence, the creepy, cryptic ex-boyfriend - spilled over into my voice.

"I just wanted to be alone for a while." She shrugged, but there was more to it. She looked exceptionally tired, like she'd been ill.

My frustration fizzled away. Whatever she'd been going through I wasn't helping by being a dick about it. "Vi, a few days ago Tate was here looking for you." For a second I thought she'd fainted as she fell back against the headboard a few inches behind her. "Are you okay?" I said, a little alarmed.

"I'm fine." She said quickly "Did he... I mean what did he do when I wasn't here?"

"Asked me to pass on a message to you when I saw you." She raised an eyebrow. "He wanted me to tell you 'he's sorry for everything, that he'd stay away, and that he died for you the day the SWAT team killed him, he just didn't know it yet.'" She didn't reply, just stared off into space. If his words had any meaning to her, her face didn't betray them. After a few minutes she said, "I'm sorry I haven't been around."

"What's going on Vi? I know you broke things off with him years ago, but knowing his history I was afraid he'd done something to you."

"No" and her voice was weary. "No, he didn't do anything to me." She paused as if gathering her thoughts. "Last year after you moved in I spoke to him again for the first time in years. It was necessary; he had the wrong idea about you and me, and I was worried what he'd do to you. But being so near him again everything I had tried not to feel rose up inside me." She sighed. "It was so much easier to hate him when my anger was fresh. Anyway, I told him if he wanted to earn my forgiveness he'd help me keep you safe."

This was news. As far I knew she hadn't spoken to him in years, though the events surrounding their break-up were somewhat vague to me. I could tell it hurt her to talk about it, so never pressed the topic.

"After that I'd spend a little time with him occasionally. On Saturday though, after you left, we had a fight. Later we apologized to each other, and he started crying so held him, and after a while one led thing led to another and we had sex." She lowered her head into her hands, and there was real pain in her voice. "He was so happy, Thomas."

I just starred at her, lost for words. "So what happened after?" I asked eventually.

She got up and went to the window to smoke "I freaked out. I had to get out of there; I couldn't stand to look him in the face. In a twisted self-destructive way I think a part of me did it to drive him further away. Like if I hurt him he'd finally have enough and bail on me, and then I could comfortably hate him again." She shook her head. "I don't know, maybe the whole thing is beyond making sense at this point."

"Love isn't always logical is it? And clearly you both love each other despite everything that's happened." I said.

"Yeah, I know. Love isn't the problem though. I still love him. I need him really, he's the only thing I've ever wanted, but there's this self-protective thing that comes between us whenever I get close to him." And her tone was defeated.

"So, it's more the hurt his actions caused that are the problem than the actions themselves?"

"Something like that."

"Well maybe you just need to accept that he'll hurt you again." I said. It was her turn to gape at me. "Just hear me out, okay?" She nodded. "You love him despite everything he's done. You told me before that the thing that really pulled you two together was the darkness you both had inside you, so it's not like you want to change him, because then he wouldn't be the person you love. If you just accept it as inevitable that he could hurt you again, however unintentionally, you'll stop being afraid of it. We usually fear the unknown the most." The words tumbled out in a rush. "Make sense?"

"Yeah except for the little problem of him being homicidal" she said sarcastically.

"I don't know... from what he said it sounded like maybe the house was feeding that side of him, and he's different now."

"What do you mean 'from what he said'?" She asked sharply.

I tried to remember his words as accurately as I could, "He said that you were his light, that before you there was only darkness, and you changed him."

She relaxed. "Yeah, I've heard that before." The words should have been sarcastic, but they weren't.

"You didn't believe him?

"No, I did, I do." And the weariness in her voice was back.

"Violet, has he hurt anyone in all these years since you sent him away?"

Eventually she said, "No."

"Well if you distrust his words, trust his actions. I can't see that he's had a reason to do that. If anything he could have gone off the deep end after you sent him away."

The worry in her face cleared up by degrees over the next few minutes, until finally a smile appeared. "So are you going to tell me what happened with Willa?" I didn't protest the change of topic. I knew her well enough to know that she had found some resolution to whatever was bothering her. Hopefully she'd fill me in on it at some point, but for now I left the weirdness of the last few days behind and sunk into the happiness I'd been dying to share with her before it all started. It wasn't until much later that night, when I was just on the point of sleep that I felt Violet leave the bed. I hoped she was going to talk to Tate.


	7. Lust

It looked like Hell on earth. Smoke and ash were whipped around in the strong winds. Los Angeles was burning; the foothills surrounding the city were going up in flames after a long, hot summer. I loved it. It was nighttime and I was on the roof watching the flames dance in the distance, and thinking about the best way to do what I needed to do tonight.

Thomas had left for Stanford weeks ago now. In truth, I was a little lonely, but it was mostly self-imposed. I could have been spending time with Tate, but I wasn't. After our last time together, and my subsequent freak-out over it, I had gone to talk to him where he was holed up in the basement. I could feel his pain seeping out around the door like toxic fumes. That night I had explained to him that I was terrified that he would hurt me again, and that that fear was keeping me from being with him. He had immediately wanted to know what he could do to make it right, but I told him there was nothing to do, I just needed time.

But he had changed around me after that. We'd be doing something, and he'd be fine one minute, and then the next his eyes would fill with guilt. Every time it would happen I could feel my heart breaking a little. His guilt over the pain he had caused me had, like my fear, been a thing that that rose up between us and prevented us from truly being together.

What we needed was to let go of everything, and I was hoping that tonight we could do that. I twirled a fresh razor between my fingers. Tate was probably going to flip when he learned what I had in mind, but there wasn't another way. Sitting up here and worrying about it wasn't going to make it any easier either. I carefully crawled in the attic window, and went back to what was kind of my room again now that Thomas was gone.

I was surprised to find Tate lying across the bed with his eyes closed. I watched him for a moment before quietly setting the razor on the nightstand, and stripping off my tights to be more comfortable. I thought he might be asleep, so as gently as I could I lay down next to him, but he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, burying his face in my hair. Without opening his eyes he asked me quietly, "what were you doing on the roof?"

"Thinking" I whispered.

"About?"

"You and me." I reached up to lightly touch his face. When I got close enough he kissed my hand.

"What about us?"

"The things that come between us." I could feel his body tense with nervousness next to me. "I think I might know a way of starting over." Now he opened his eyes.

"How?" he asked in a startled voice.

I pulled away from him to reach over to the small table and pick up the razor. When I turned back to face him I held it up. "With this." He just looked from me to the razor in confusion, so I explained, "I'm scared you'll hurt me again, and that's keeping me from you; you're drowning in guilt over hurting me, and that's keeping you from me. So I want you to hurt me. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I think it's the only way. If we can face our fears over it maybe we can get past them." I finished.

"You want me to cut you?" His tone was just as confused as the expression on his face.

"Yes." I said firmly.

"And what if it doesn't work? What if we do this, and we still can't be together?" There was a slight edge to his tone now.

"If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. It's not like you can get carried away and kill me, so what's the problem?"

"No. I won't do it."

I was suddenly furious. I was giving him a way for us to be whole again, and he wouldn't take it. After everything he put me through he wouldn't do this one thing. I got up off the bed; Tate tried to grab my hand, but I whipped it out of his. "So it's fine for you to throw me on the ground or grab me hard enough to bruise me in a fit of anger, but you won't cut me?" I spat at him.

He was angry now to, and got up off the bed to stand in front of me. "I never hurt you intentionally, and I won't start now."

"So all your talk about doing anything to have me back was all bullshit? I'm giving you a way to make us whole again, and you're throwing it in my face." Just as quickly as the anger came it was replaced by intense sadness. I felt defeated. "Please Tate" I said, on the brink of tears now.

"No." And his tone was so final I knew there was no arguing with him.

I leaned against the wall for support. I couldn't even look at him as I quietly said, "get out."

"Vi -" He started, but I cut him off. "Leave."

After a moment he shuffled to the door, and I heard it open and close. "I hate you!" I screamed in frustration, and burst into angry tears. After everything he was gone. I felt broken, incomplete. I doubled over in pain, it felt like there was a gaping hole in my chest, and sobbed. I was so lost in the pain that I didn't feel the razor clutched in my hand cutting a deep gash that was making blood drip over my knuckles. So lost in it that I didn't hear the footsteps approaching me. Suddenly I was aware of hands gripping my shoulders, pushing me up against the wall, and rough lips on mine.

Tate pulled away from me. "I died that day so that I could be with you." He said fiercely, and his lips were back on mine. One hand sliding down to wrap firmly around my waist, and the other sliding down to the hand that held the razor and lifting it over my head, opening my fingers, and pressing his palm against mine so that our blood could mingle as it cut him too. "I won't lose you again."

He tightened his grip on my waist and steered me over to the bed where he pulled my shirt off before laying me down. He hovered over me, and looked deeply into my eyes, but there was apprehension there. I left the razor in his palm as I reached up to stroke his face, leaving a brilliant smear of red across his cheek. "Just let go", I whispered, and then tangled my hand in his hair to pull him back to my mouth.

I felt his hands on my back, pulling me up so we were both on our knees in front of each other. I stopped kissing him long enough to rip the shirt off his back and fling it to the floor, running my hands up his chest, savoring it. As my hands slipped down to do the same to his belt I nipped his ear playfully. He groaned and pushed me back down, and then he was there between my legs, his hardness gently rutting against me through our clothes. I kissed and nipped every inch of him I could reach: lips, neck, and shoulders.

I could feel his hand kneading it's way up the inside of my leg, finally pushing my panties aside so that he could slip a finger into my slit, then another, making me whimper with pleasure. "God, Vi", he rasped as he tugged my bra off before nipping and sucking on my nipples. The pleasure of it all left me gasping for breath. If I didn't slow things down I was going to come, and I didn't want to. Not yet. I wanted him inside of me when I let go.

The glinting of the razor in the low light caught my eye, and I decided to something a little rash. Tate was still devoting his attention to my breasts, so I picked up the razor, and quickly drew it across his shoulders; not deeply, but enough to make him bleed. He was startled, but when he looked at me all I could see was the darkness and lust that were in my eyes, in his as well.

His tongue trailed a path back up to my neck as his hand, sticky with my wetness, pulled the razor from my hand. I took the chance to unzip his pants and slip my hand inside to slowly stroke his erection; not enough to make him come, just enough to tease. It was thick, and heavy, and leaking, and my teasing made him groan "I need you, Vi" into the hollow of my neck as his member twitched in my hand. The next moment he was kicking out of his jeans and boxers, and I stripped my skirt off to lay naked under him.

He pressed his body against mine, kissing my shoulders as his hands forced my arms above my head to pin them there. I could feel his member ghosting over my slit, teasing me. I felt the tip slip between my lips and it was almost unbearable, and I whined with the desire. As he pushed inside of me he drew the razor down the inside of my arm all the way to the crook of my elbow, making us both moan in pleasure. He finally released my hands, and I wrapped him in my arms around him, mixing my blood with his again, and covering up both in its hot stickiness. He kissed and licked my wound covering his lips with blood before his kissed me.

He began thrusting in and out, not gently, but not rough either. It was like with each thrust he was claiming me as his own. Nothing else mattered but his skin on mine; his lips possessing my mouth. No one would ever make me feel this way. Nothing and no one mattered but him. The house could burn down around us, and we were so lost in each other we wouldn't notice. Time stopped. We drowned in each other. Every moan, every thrust, every drop of blood baptized us, and we emerged from it clean, and pure, and loved.

One of his hands was in mine, fingers intertwined, and the other gripping my hip so hard I was developing a bruise when I came with an inarticulate cry. My walls tightening around his hardness pushed him over the edge, and I felt his cock twitch and release inside of me, before he collapsed against me, grunting and pouring sweat.

Even as he slipped out of me he cradled my face in his hands, and kissed me deeply, passionately, pulling me with him as he lay next to me so that my arm was draped across him. When he released me I put head on his chest and listened to our ragged breathing steady as I rested my hand over his heart. His hand was rubbing up and down my back, and I gave myself over to the feelings of peace and security and contentment swirling around me. We drifted off to sleep tangled together, and didn't wake until late in the morning.

When I woke Tate was watching me, and he kissed me gently before he spoke. "I used to watch you sleep when you first moved in."

I yawned and stretched, "why?"

"After I saw you cutting in the bathroom the first time I was fascinated by you. I wanted you in a way I never wanted anyone before, and I didn't understand it. The first night I thought about killing you." And there was no shame or guilt in his eyes at the memory. "But I couldn't do it. I couldn't hurt you even though I wanted you forever. It confused me until I realized I just wanted to love you, and you to love me too."

I considered that for a moment as I brushed my fingers across his cheek. "I would have stayed, in the end, even if I had to die to do it. You waited for me for 17 years." I leaned in and kissed him, and the lust flared up between us. Tate pulled me on top of him and slipped inside of me again. We spent the rest of the day saying all the things we hadn't said and making love over and over again until we fell into a deep, exhausted sleep that night. For the first time in 7 years I felt whole, and happy, and loved.

When Thomas came home for Thanksgiving a few months later he found me under the big tree in the backyard leaning against Tate's chest with my head resting on his shoulder as he read me a letter John Keats had written to his lover. I was anxious to hear his news, but just as anxious to get back to Tate because it was me and him, for always.

* * *

><p>I just wanted to thank everyone for the positive feedback. This is the first fanfic I've written and it was really nice to know a few people enjoyed it :) The chapters are named for the songs I wrote them to. Definitely listen to them sometime.<p>

The Ghost Who Walks - Karen Elson

An Itch - Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross

Just Like Honey - Jesus & Mary Chain

By Your Side - Beachwood Sparks

Far Away - Washed Out

Harsh Realm - Widowspeak

Lust - The Raveonettes


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